


Anonymous Hate

by Clarisse (transnymphtaire)



Series: Things that might never get finished [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Genderqueer Sirius Black, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Tumblr, descriptions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-08 00:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7734931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transnymphtaire/pseuds/Clarisse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr is great at getting people together. Tom has rather unconventional ways though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: #don't read

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in March... I gave it a quick look over, but yeah, this is me not having any voice that tells me to not go through with impulses. In this case, the impulse to post this.

_I’ve never written anything like this before, but my psychologist is under the impression that it will be good for me. Says that I need to face my past, and that I should try to talk to someone about it. Apparently it isn’t good to keep it to myself. I guess this is as close to talking to someone that I’ll get..._

_My parents died before my first birthday. I don’t know how. I learnt to not ask. What I do know is that there was a problem, either with their wills or with the system. I’m not sure what the system is supposed to be, but I’ve heard enough complaints about it growing up to acknowledge it as likely. Whatever the problem was, it lead to one thing. I was placed with my maternal aunt and her family. I was never supposed to, I learnt later. As in, a decade later._

_My life changed drastically after I turned 11. I’m still having problem with the changes. It’s with this new perspective that some truths have been made clear to me. The most important one is that my aunt and uncle are the worst kind of people, and they raised their son to be the same. My godfather calls them radical Christians, as in the sense that they are extreme with their beliefs. I just think that they are hateful. They are racist, homophobic, transphobic bigots._

_I didn’t know about my own heritage until my godfather sat me down and told me about it. My paternal grandfather was from Pakistan, and my paternal grandmother was of Indian and Nepali descent. My maternal grandfather was Welsh, and my maternal grandmother was Scottish._

_In hindsight, my aunt very rarely told me things if they were related to me in any way. For example, I didn’t know my own name prior to starting school. Even afterwards, I was taught the wrong spelling and pronunciation, because it wasn’t a “proper, English name”. Racist bollocks._

_They did tell me when my birthday is, if only to be able to shove it in my face how little I meant to them. It was the one day they could hand out punishments and call it a gift. Especially my uncle enjoyed giving me “gifts” after I reached the age of 5. I’m not comfortable trying to think about those “gifts”._

_My relatives started to treat me worse in general after I turned 5, as that was the year my education became compulsory. Before that they had kept me at home so I wouldn’t ruin their reputation with the other rich, white families in the neighbourhood._

_According to my psychologist, I’m what they call a prodigy. My godfather say that mum also was one. Their theory for my worsened treatment is that my relatives felt threatened by my intelligence, especially when it was put in comparison to my cousin. I can’t really understand it, because trying to put me down didn’t do anything to help my cousin. There’s a lot of things I find hard to understand that seem obvious to other people. My psychologist made me go through tons of test because of it, and because of how my childhood shaped my behaviour._

_That’s not what I meant to write about though._

_Since my relatives are the worst kind of people, they saw me as if I were lower than dirt. They gave me minimum care in exchange for additional £13.70/week._

_I don’t remember much of my time with them. My psychologist says that I’ve repressed the memories because they’re too traumatic. I think that’s why I’m uncomfortable when I try to remember my uncle’s “gifts” - because I know they were something horrible, but I can’t remember what. I feel sick just thinking about my uncle._

_What I can remember from my time with my relatives is mostly doing chores. All kind of chores that a child shouldn’t do, like cooking, gardening, cleaning the whole house, repainting the fence or the shed, cleaning the shed, cleaning the garage… I still enjoy cooking and gardening._

_When I weren’t busy doing chores, I was either attending school or locked inside my room. I call it a room, but it was in actuality the cupboard under the stairs. It was the only safe place I had while growing up. I still lock myself inside a cupboard or closet when I need to get away. My godfather doesn’t like it when I do that, but they and my uncle - not my real uncle, but my godfather’s boyfriend - helped me clean out a cupboard in our home for me. We filled it with pillows and blankets._

_My godfather and uncle adopted me after I turned 11, which you might have concluded already. My godfather had been travelling around the world and didn’t know that my parents had died. When they found out, they contacted my uncle and together they tracked me down. I like to think of it as that they saved me. Still, it took me really long before I started to trust them. I think that’s part of why they got me a psychologist._

_I’ve lived with my godfather and uncle for 3 years now. They’re really nice and understanding most of the time. I slip up a lot and forget where I am, and sometimes I do things that my relatives would have punished me for and start to freak out, but they never punish me for any of it._

_I don’t think I can write any more right now. I don’t really feel better from doing it._

* * *

In a penthouse in London, 14 year old Hari Potter let his cursor hover over the _Post_ -button. He bit his lip slightly in a show of anxiety, before he pressed down the left mouse button. The site updated, and a post consisting of two words and a tag looked back at him.

_**Keep reading**_  
**#don’t read**

In a flat in Little Hangleton, 16 year old Tom Riddle updated his dashboard to see a new post. Ignoring the tag, obsessed with knowing everything there was to know about this person, he pressed on _Keep reading_.


	2. Chapter 1: Tom Marvolo Riddle a.k.a couronnedeserpent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of Tom Riddle Jr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in one sitting while having Hairspray on in the background - twice.

Little Hangleton was a small village in northern England, near the larger community of Great Hangleton. The village rarely had anything interesting happening in it, which is why scandals had a tendency to blow out of proportion.

That was the case in 1996 when Merope Gaunt became pregnant with Tom Riddle’s child. The rumours surrounding the event ranged from the truth - a drunken one-night stand - to pure rubbish - that Merope was a witch that had bewitched poor mr Riddle. It was the most excitement that the village had had in years.

It was not as exciting for the people involved in the scandal. Merope was in her second trimester when she confronted Tom with her pregnancy. With abortion no longer a legal option, his parents pressured him to take responsibility. Unwilling to marry Merope or care for the child, Tom bought the expecting mother a small apartment and promised to pay child support.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was born the 31st of December 1996, only minutes away from the new year. None of his relatives visited.

His grandparents arranged his education for him, as he couldn’t bring shame to their surname. He would not be able to point them out in a crowd. His father didn’t even look his way when they ran into each other in the village.

At the age of 9, Tom had accepted that he only had his mother in his life - his weak, poor mother that for some incomprehensible reason was head over heels in love with his father.

At the age of 10, Tom had understood that he was better than the other children in village, and even some of the adults. For starters, he went to an upper class school in Great Hangleton. Secondly, he was still a Riddle even if his mother was unfortunately a Gaunt, and the Riddles were Little Hangleton’s pride.

At the age of 12, Tom found a hurt snake on his way home past the forest and decided to take it with him. It was the first time he showed concern for another living creature. Merope, while loving, was not made for motherhood; her words fell on deaf ears. This was the one time she thought she saw a bit of herself in her son.

At the age of 14, Tom was the talk of his school. He had the highest grades, the best manners, and the poorest clothes. He started to build an image for himself, including a crowd of schoolmates that agreed with his political views. He started working on his image by frequenting second hand shops for cheap but luxurious clothes; he had a talent for finding old clothes in almost new condition befitting an aristocrat.

At age 15, Tom and his gang were infamous at their school. They had the old names and the bad life style. They hung out late, smoking cigarettes in cigarette holders from the 20’s, talked politics, and listened to jazz versions of classical music. Great Hangleton was an old-fashioned town, forever stuck in the past. It fit them as a glove.

At the age of 15, Tom had a part time job in a quaint antique shop in which he spent a few hours every day after school. It was one of those days while working that he overheard a pair of giggling girls.

“This cookie jar is great!”

“Yeah, I love the aesthetic! Look, one of the books says _Espresso Yourself_.”

“We need to buy it! Just imagine how many notes it could get on Tumblr…”

Curious about what they were talking about, Tom walked over to offer his assistance. After all, the two giggling girls were interested in buying.

The two girls that couldn’t be much older than him were looking at a cookie jar shaped as three books with a coffee mug, old cellphone and a plate of cookies on top.

“It costs 55£ but I could push it down to 50£ for two such beautiful girls as yourself.” Tom said with a charming smile. The girls visibly paled at the prize and excused themselves. Tom followed them with his eyes as they left, apparently no longer interested in the antique shop. He couldn’t claim that he was interested in them either, but he was curious about what Tumblr was.

* * *

Tumblr was apparently a form of social media. The site was a dark, dull shade of blue. Curious and always looking for ways to spread his political views, Tom decided to sign up.

He tried quite a few usernames before he finally settled on _couronnedeserpent_ ; couronne de serpent; snake crown. It sounded slightly pretentious as it was in french, hinted at him being royal and included snakes; the only animal worth anything. It was perfect.

* * *

A few months after signing up to Tumblr, his username gained yet another reason. Tom couldn’t help himself whenever he saw a picture of a snake on his dashboard; his blog aesthetic had evolved from political rants to including reptiles, black and white pictures, and selfies taken with a polaroid camera that never showed his whole face.

The polaroid camera was a vintage treasure that he had found at work and bought. He refused to admit that he had done it for the aesthetic; a concept that he had taken to before he even knew that Tumblr existed. Looking through aesthetic blogs had been a lot like looking at photos of himself; aristocratic clothes, gorgeous boys and cigarette smoke. In all honesty, the concept of aesthetic was slowly taking over his life. Living in an old-fashioned part of England and working in an antique shop was apparently the dream for many Tumblr users, and he was living it.

Perhaps that was part of the reason he had managed to gain so many followers. Perhaps his natural charm translated well online. He did not care, the important thing was that he had a network to spread his ideas out of school.

It also felt rather good that so many of his followers - and he really did love that word - reblogged the pictures he posted of his lovely snake. Nagini had been a birthday gift from Merope; one of the few things that she had managed to do right.

* * *

He was looking through his dashboard when one of the notifications that took up place between posts drew his attention. Someone with the URL _agnisher_ had reblogged a picture of Nagini and commented on it. Curious, Tom decided to open the person’s blog to read the comment in full and see who it was.

> _THIS IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SNAKE AND I LOVE AND TREASURE IT_

Tom looked over at Nagini with a fond smile. He definitely agreed with the stranger. Interested in if _agnisher_ said this about more snakes, Tom clicked on their home button to look through their blog.

Hours later he was thirty pages deep, as he had been distracted multiple times. There was no name in the blog description and he had yet to look at the about page, but there was posts about _agnisher_ ’s life. Right now he had found a selfie of the blogger and couldn’t help but stare at it.

After staring at the picture for ten minutes, Tom saved it on his computer and followed the blog. He skipped the about page to go directly to _agnisher_ ’s ask. After clicking anonymous, he wrote and sent his message.

**Anonymous asked you:**   
_**I hate your ugly face.** _

Miles away, Hari opened his inbox to read the new message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have saved both URLs that are used in this. Might do something with that in the future.
> 
> According to crybabyqueen agnisher is fire lion in hindi. I trust her.
> 
> Example of jazz Mozart: youtube.com/watch?v=q2Kxlsj2QCw  
> The cookie jar: tias.com/stack-of-books-cookie-jar-633193.html
> 
> ...and if you know your math you will realize that 1996 + 16 = 2012. The prologue takes place in 2013. (Before you complain about my math, remember when Tom's birthday is.)  
> Anyway, that means that Hari is born the 31st of July 1998, and had yet to turn 15 in the prologue.
> 
> (I regret my choices because 2012/2013 but as a 90's kids I just couldn't write a birth-date in the 2000's.)

**Author's Note:**

> Was it good? Should I write more on it?
> 
> Comments feed fanfiction writers and make them write more. So yeah.  
> I'm honestly unlikely to continue this any time soon unless it get comments, or inspiration hits. But I'm working on tons of other things so... I just got tired of having this laying around.
> 
> My writing tumblr is clarisselwyn.tumblr.com and my main is agendertomriddle.tumblr.com  
> What should I update next? sv.surveymonkey.com/r/LK8NFRL


End file.
